The hellish cross-dressing day's finally over.
Now it's just the real deal at the festival.
Honestly, win or lose, it's a side hustle.
They think they can dress me up and milk me for clout? Fuckin' bastards…
Sure, attracting customers is key, but what we're selling matters most.
Menu's one thing, price is another.
We're going with safe shit like pajeon, like other departments…
But pricing's the problem. Need a signature dish or some damn thing.
Anyway, class is done, and I'm at the poker prelims.
Watched other teams from the back—pretty much what I expected.
Most are mediocre as hell.
Some have decent game sense, but no real threats.
If it stays like this, that prize money's mine!
"Shin Sang-ho, Lee Joonhyung, Kim Hyuk-soo. Take your seats."
My turn.
Top two in prelims advance.
If you've got skills but shit luck, organizers might let third place slide.
I sit at the table, grabbing my cards.
"Fuck, I'm nervous…"
Feels weird.
I used to hate poker so much…
Never thought I'd be here. Is this okay?
I hated my gambling dad, but it also pissed me off.
Why make those dumb calls? Why choke? Why keep bluffing like an idiot?
Obvious tricks. Obvious bluffs. Obvious traps.
Dad fell for every damn one, and it drove me nuts.
If it was me… If I faced those assholes…
I buried that thought deep.
Sometimes I'd dream it.
Sitting in Dad's place, playing poker.
Crushing those bastards rigging him.
Cleaning out their stacks, leaving them broke…
Dreams never ended well, though.
"Game's starting," the announcer says.
I snap out, blinking at my two cards.
Just play smart. I don't believe in "genes" or whatever.
Dad was a drunk, but I read about a guy whose dad was an alcoholic and still built a liquor empire.
It's all mindset…
---
"Fold."
"Fold."
Ugh…
Crowd's gasping behind me.
This is weird.
Other teams were all scrubs…
But this table's got two sharks besides me.
"Fuckin' hell," one guy mutters, busting out after burning his stack.
We each started with a million won in chips. Game goes till one's left.
Right now, Park Hyung-sik's leading with 3.2 million.
I've got 2.8 million.
Close as hell.
"Shit."
He looks thrown off too.
What the fuck? Weren't we just playing scrubs? his face says.
I'm just as freaked. Didn't expect a player like this at our shitty uni.
I'm no genius either, but…
"Hmm…"
He's eyeing me like I'm his main rival, playing cautious.
His style's hidden, no tells.
Folds on anything less than perfect. Fold, fold, fold.
Sneaky bastard… it's pissing me off. But he's right—can't show your hand here.
"Open cards."
Another small-pot fight.
Bets and raises stay tight, small-scale.
I'm doing the same. He's folding like crazy, so what choice do I have?
One pair, two pair—good enough to bet, but I hold back, just in case.
This guy's no rookie… Did he skip meals in high school to play poker or what?
"Hand."
He's wearing a huge-ass mask, covering up to his eyes.
Pros do that in real games.
Lips twitch, corners lift—tells are real.
Rookies wear masks to hide bad poker faces…
"Damn it."
Should've come cross-dressed.
Fuck, why do I miss cross-dressing now?
Bet it'd throw him off, like, "This chick's got a dude's voice, what the hell?"
Shake his mental game. Maybe cross-dress for the finals?
His play's so sneaky, I wanna crush his mind any way I can…
I feel his eyes scanning my face for tells.
Not much help, but if he catches a hint, he'll use it.
Gotta catch his habits now for the finals.
Gotta bait him…
Passive players get crushed by aggression.
Show a fake style now, then switch it up in the finals.
Prelims don't matter…
One bad hand in the finals, and you're second. Gotta plan.
"All-in."
"All-in."
"All-in."
"Another all-in."
If I see an edge, I shove all-in.
Anything over 55% win rate, I go hard after the third card.
Testing his reactions…
He folds, cautious as hell. Got plenty of chips.
He doesn't care about losing here either—just wants my style.
Clover K, Diamond 10.
Pre-flop…
3, 9, J…
Not bad. Time for a brainless raise.
"Raise."
"Raise."
…His hand's decent, huh? He's creeping out.
I fake hesitation.
Wanna end this quick. No need to go all-in for real…
In the finals, this would've cooked him. Only so many hands can form…
"Turn phase. Spade 10."
I raise.
He's got something good.
Not faking—maybe Q, K, or 7, 8.
Or 8, K, waiting for the next card.
No need to go hard here…
But let's see his move.
"All-in."
"…"
He pauses, thinking.
Glances at me.
What's his angle?
"All-in."
He matches.
The crowd goes, "Ooh." Boring fight ends with an all-in. Last hand, probably.
"River turn. Heart Q."
River… Q.
9, 10, J, Q. Rare table hand.
Cards flip.
"Lee Joonhyung: 9, 10, J, Q, K."
"Park Hyung-sik: 9, 10, J, Q, K."
"Split!"
…Same hand.
Both straights. No flush, so it's a tie. Split pot, we halve the money.
"Ooh," the crowd murmurs.
Same hand, huh? they whisper.
My eyes narrow. Hmm…
In a real gambling den, we'd settle by high card. I'd barely win.
But this ain't a den…
"Other prelim players are waiting, so we'll wrap here," the announcer says, smiling awkwardly.
Spectators sigh, stretching.
Kinda anticlimactic.
"Thanks for the great game! You both pass the prelims!"
"We'll assign groups without ranking first or second."
"Good work…"
Feels unfinished…
But others are waiting.
Hyung-sik and I stand, both looking pissed.
People stare like we're freaks.
"My 3 million won…"
No way I'm letting this go!
It's two months' pay for you…
But for me? It's money I earn getting my ass reamed and face smeared by Juha.
I'm more desperate! Pretty boys like you can get jobs… I can't!
He glares, then turns away, just as annoyed.
I'm pissed too.
Thought I'd snag 3 million easy, but this mystery pro shows up…
Still, by gambling rules, I won that last hand.
If this was a real den, your wrists would be gone.
"I'll crush you."
Cross-dressing or whatever, I'll break you.
Mental, physical, everything.
Even if I gotta wear a damn skirt…
---
Three missed calls.
Poker prelims left me drained and annoyed.
Didn't expect to burn so much energy…
Juha called.
No reason for her to call… what's up?
Another OnlyFans shoot? Been a while.
"Hey, yo," I answer.
"'Yo' my ass. Why didn't you pick up, dickhead?" Juha snaps.
She used to sound like she'd kill me. Now it's playful.
Hearing her voice after a bit makes me all warm and fuzzy.
Hng… wanna grab Juha's tits so bad.
"I was… at a tournament," I say.
"Tournament? What kinda tournament?" she asks.
Poker… but if I say that, she'll flip.
"This asshole told me not to play and then goes himself? Wanna die?" or "Oh, forgot about poker. Wanna play, hehe?"
"Just… a game thing," I mumble.
"Whatever. I'm at our school. That izakaya we went to? Get your ass here."
"School…?" I say.
Why's she here? Festival's not even started.
And "our"? Who's with her?
"Yeah. Me and In-ha. Hurry up, it's cold as fuck," she says.
"Uh… okay."
In-ha?
Thought she brought some rando.
Why's it me, Juha, and In-ha?
Feels off.
Sure enough, her next words are ominous.
"In-ha fucked up. Get here quick."
…What kinda fuck-up?
Only thing I can think of is a car accident.
With her driving skills, she finally crashed!
Did she hit something expensive? Hope it's not a person…
It's In-ha, so my mind's racing with bad shit.
Knew she'd crash soon…
I grab my bag and hustle.
If she fucked up, it's her mess… why call me?